


Lucifer fragment for Keire_Ke

by seraphim_grace



Category: Lucifer (Comic), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, obscure xover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 13:58:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphim_grace/pseuds/seraphim_grace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fragment based on the beautiful art of Keire_ke in a game of Obscure Crossovers<br/>Charles as Mazikeen Erik as Lucifer<br/>or Erik is the King of Hell and Charles is his war leader</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucifer fragment for Keire_Ke

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keire_ke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keire_ke/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Obscure Crossover Challenge - Lucifer (Comic)](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/19769) by Keire_ke. 



Charles is draped over the wooden chair, the arm of it under the bend of his knee where it’s possible to see his worn and bloody chucks. His broken sword hangs from his hand down on the floor and his tee is filthy, both with its message and it’s state. The jeans he’s wearing look like they need burned.

Erik raises a dark eyebrow at the Lilim draped across his throne. His Charles, his consort, his war leader.

Under his demi-mask Charles grins. It shows too many teeth, then with fingers topped with bitten nails, blood ground into the creases and cracks, he touches his temples and appraises Erik and his perfect purple black suit, the dark red shirt and the opening of his collar, even his polished shoes. “My lord,” Charles says with a smirk, like he’s wondering whether he should use the broken sword to cut Erik from his clothes or take the more traditional method of just undressing him.

Erik touches the clever mouth with a perfectly manicured fingernail. “Don’t call me that.” He says softly, “not you.”

Charles raises one eyebrow, the mask leaves half of his face impassive. “I am your soldier.” Charles tells him in a voice that sounds like the threat of violence.

Erik’s grin is a knife slash of perfection, of apocalypse and dark eyebrows with flashing golden eyes. “I know.” He says, “Stand easy.”

 

Charles bites his lip with just the left side of his mouth, at best he ignores the right side. It makes no difference to Erik. He sees him exactly as he always did, loyal, dangerous, beautiful, treacherous, beloved.

He had been a sweet boy, but Hell was a harsh place and there was no softness left in him.

Charles lifted his broken sword, the flickers of fake torchlight catching the lettering, the ironic Fiat Lux, and brought it to the front of his obscene tee. “I like boys… with other boys” parting under the edge of the nicked and used blade.

The skin was tattered and scarred and the eyes were an inhuman azure colour, the colour of the skies above Australia, the ones that even Lucifer couldn’t deny, perhaps because they reminded him of this. Of sharp white teeth biting one half of a blood red lip, a pink pointed tongue, and clever fingers with fingernails with blood under them finding the buttons of a vest and the hiss of “too many clothes,”

sex and death were sisters, Erik knew, as he reached down with his perfectly clean hand and pulled Charles’ chin up, the edge of the porcelain mask against his skin, and stole a kiss from that bloodied mouth.


End file.
